There was only a single word that came to Kre’s mind at Beleg’s offer. “Rakshasa,” he whispered, unsure if he should use the same vehement tone as Talimar or if he should speak the name in a more urgent whisper, as if it carried a curse if spoken too loudly.
He could feel Beleg nod from the other side, but the large man said nothing for a bit. When he finally spoke, his tone was flat as if he were reading from a manuscript. “I’ve never seen one,” he said, offering it as a means of a disclaiming how little practical knowledge he had on the subject matter, “but I am told that they are demonic creatures that can change their shapes and drink blood.”
Kre could feel the shudder in Beleg’s body, which caused him some great concern. If this was a creature that could put fear into the fearless… Kre managed to suppress his own shudder though he still felt the chill run down his spine.
“Ortho and Gnore?” Kre asked, though he dreaded what the response might be.
“Alive, most like,” Beleg said, relief in his own voice. “Were they otherwise, Talimar would have told us.”
“Thanks be,” Kre murmured, offering up part of a prayer he learned from long ago.
“Thanks be,” Beleg repeated. “Though time is of the essence. Rakshasa are notoriously hard to track and any prisoners they take will not last long. Mercy is not one of the traits they are known for. They will take what they want from our friends and leave their shriveled-up husks behind.”
“What does it want with Ortho and Gnore?” Kre asked. “I mean, besides the obvious food source.”
Beleg shrugged. As he did so, the very fact that he was back-to-back with Kre meant that the younger man was lifted partially off the ground.
“Hard to say,” came another voice from the shadows. “Next watch.”
“A bit early, but I won’t complain,” Beleg rumbled in response. He got to his feet and gave a short wave to both Kersath and to Kre.
Kre was getting ready to stand as well when Kersath waved him back down. “You stay,” came the directive from the shadowy figure.
“You two speak too loudly for a quiet rest. If you have questions about what we face, you are best to ask myself or Talimar. Only we two truly know what evil lurks in these wilds.”
The dark Ylveryan squatted on the ground next to Kre and leaned forward until his lips were close to Kre’s ear. “Rakshasa,” Kersath uttered, the same sound in his throat that Talimar had when he spoke the name, “are one of the vilest races in existence. They have given themselves wholly to the demonic forces and are themselves slaves to such power.”
“Was Beleg right about their… abilities? Shape shifting and all?” He couldn’t bring himself to ask if they actually drank blood for fear of hearing his fear confirmed.
“Indeed,” Kersath whispered. His tone somehow more menacing for its solemn softness. “They are known to take the shapes of those they kill. They often do so to get close to those the recently killed knew and loved. Then they kill those innocents, and the cycle continues until whole families and settlements are gone.”
“But… why?” Kre asked. The entire concept of killing whole families and wiping out towns seemed completely foreign and unnecessarily evil. “What possible good does it serve to do such a thing?”
Kersath nodded, as if sensing his thoughts and confirming them. “Exactly so. No good at all.”